you needn't tell me if you don't want to--maybe I oughtn't to
ask, been so long ago and everything lost track of--but you won't feel
offended if I do, will you?" He had his hand on Gregg's shoulder now,
his lips quivering, a peculiar look in his eyes. "Come across here
with me, please. No--this way, to the fireplace. Where did you get
that portrait?"

Gregg felt a sudden relief. The man wasn't drunk--it was the beauty of
the picture which had affected him. He could forgive him that,
although he felt sure the next move would be an offer to purchase it.
He had met his kind before.

"I bought it at private sale," he answered simply.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Who sold it to you?"

"Schenck, the auctioneer."

"Will you sell it to me?"

"No; I never sell anything of that kind."

"Not at a large price?"

"Not any price," Gregg replied in a decided tone. It was just as he
expected. These men of business gauge everything by their bank
accounts. One of them had had the impertinence to ask him to fill up a
blank check for the contents of his studio.

"Where did it come from?"

"Schenck told me he didn't know. It was held for storage. It seems to
interest you?" There was a slight tone of resentment in Gregg's voice.

"Yes, it does, more than I can tell you, more than you can
understand." His voice had lost its nervousness now.

"It reminds you of some one, perhaps?" asked Gregg. There might, after
all, be some spark of sentiment in the young man.

"Yes, it does," he continued, devouring it with his eyes. "I haven't
seen it since I was a child."

"You know it, then!" It was Gregg's turn to be surprised. "Where did
you see it, may I ask?"

"Down in Maryland, at Derwood Manor, before it was burned."

The blood mounted to Gregg's cheeks and he was about to speak. Then he
checked himself. He did not want to know of the portrait's
vicissitudes. That it was now where he could be locked up with it,
made up for everything it had come through.

"Yes, these memories are very curious," remarked Gregg in a more
gentle tone. "It reminds me also of some one I once knew. Don't you
think it is very beautiful?"

"Beautiful! _Beautiful!_ It's the most beautiful thing in the world to
me! Why, it's my own mother, Mr. Gregg!"

"You--your own mother! What's your name?"

"Philip Colton."

VII

The same poise that restrained Adam Gregg when he came suddenly upon
Olivia's portrait in the auction-room sustained him w